


Legacy

by ragnarokwn



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, I don't even know how to tag, I wrote this at 4 am so, It's short and bad and painful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-23 08:13:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16615220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ragnarokwn/pseuds/ragnarokwn
Summary: It took Daisy three days to gather the courage to open the letter, and five more until she was able to look for the coordinates written at the postscript without spontaneously bursting into tears. She thought she had no tears left, but right now, it seemed pretty obvious that she would end up crying again, no matter what she found.





	Legacy

If the situation had been different, Daisy would’ve laughed. She did manage a faint smile when she saw her, but the overwhelming urgency to cry twisted her lips into a pout as the pressure on her chest threatened to take her breath completely.

 It took her three days to gather the courage to open the letter, and five more until she was able to look for the coordinates written at the postscript without spontaneously bursting into tears. She thought she had no tears left, but right now, it seemed pretty obvious that she would end up crying again once she found what she was looking for, no matter what.

“I can’t believe you survived.” She managed to say as she laid a hand on the red Corvette’s hood. She slid into the driver’s seat, carefully, kind of expecting the car to turn to dust with her touch. “But of course you survived. I should’ve guessed he had a secret lair for you; _of course_ he had a secret lair for you. I never really wondered what happened to you; kind of assumed you were destroyed or something. In my defense, I was a little busy.”

Once again, if the circumstances had been different, she’d probably had laughed. Over the years, she always made fun of Coulson for treating Lola as his beloved pet, but she and probably anyone who was close to him ended up just accepting it as normal. She wasn’t sure when she went from being corrected when she referred to the car as “it” to effortlessly saying “she”; it just sort of happened. And now, she was sitting there, giving explanations to an inanimate object and it felt so extremely natural. Well, it was one more thing Phil Coulson changed in her life.

When finally let the tears run down her cheeks as she leaned her temple on the door, letting herself into a fetal position, bringing her knees to her chest; she was sure Coulson would’ve complained about her dirty shoes on Lola’s seat, but the pain in her chest was much more of a worry; and, honestly, right now she was too angry at him and his goddamn letter to care about what he would say.

_You have no idea how proud I am of you. Not only of what you’ve become as an agent (I mean, I am proud of that, because, come on, you kick asses and create earthquakes, how cool is that?), but of what you are: one of the best people I’ve ever known. You are so incredibly good and kind and selfless and so full of love and care. Even after everything you’ve been through, in your core, you still are that girl who decided to trust some random guy because she wanted to help a friend. You still are the red Corvette (I really hope you remember that analogy because otherwise that might sound pretty weird)._

She held on to Lola, hoping she might give her the comfort she refused to get from the rest of the team. She kind of hoped she would feel him; that embracing his car would, somehow, feel like having his arms around her one last time. It didn’t. She was just there, crying inside an old car. But, to be fair, that made sense. Right now, as any strength she had abandoned her, that feeling made total sense: she was alone, as she’d always been and always will be. Everything else, the family, the feeling of belonging, it had been just an illusion, almost a dream; now, again, she got what she deserved: absolutely nothing at all. That feeling embraced her, wrapped its cold around her until she was barely able to breath. It felt almost like when she was being absorbed by the gravitonium; but now, she didn’t fight it. She let the sadness drown her with no resistance and cried until the physical exhaustion overcame her body; her mind, whatsoever, didn’t give her a break. She dreamt about orphanages and cold alleys and a bright light that pulled her from the darkness. When she woke up half an hour later, she couldn’t tell if Coulson’s words in her mind were in fact a part of his letter or just her subconscious self trying to keep her from going to _that_ place of her grief.

_I never imagined assembling the team would end up like this, but I guess deep down it’s what I hoped. For you, at least, I sure wanted this. A family. I’m aware I’m taking a part of it from you, and you had no idea how much it hurts me to put you through that, because you don’t deserve it. But I know you’re not alone. Maybe it’s selfish, finding comfort in that, I don’t know, but you have them, Daisy._

She rubbed her cheeks with the sleeves of her shirt, wiping the remaining tears away. For a moment, she considered it; isolation was something she was familiar and occasionally comfortable with. Living a life with nothing to lose was easier. But then, of course, she didn’t have “nothing”. Not since the day she flew in that very same car and agreed to join a team. She not only had people that she cared about and could potentially lose, but those people also had her. And, same as her, they had all lost a lot lately. She couldn’t be the one that, by own choice, make them lose someone else.

She reached out her hand to find one of Lola’s secret compartments —there was this small, almost imperceptible hole on the board, where she put her finger and opened some sort of glove box; she was one of the very few people that knew about its existence and had her fingerprints registered to open it (and was very, very proud of it). Inside, as she predicted, she found the keys. She held them between her fingers and almost smiled at the sight of the keychain; it was a small plastic frame with a picture inside —a very hero-y and dramatic picture of her, with the phrase “Quake is my hero” written at the edge.

_I grew up admiring people like Captain America and Peggy Carter, and I never imagined I would get to know and actually mean something to the greatest superhero ever: you._

She remembered the first time she saw it; Coulson came to her with a smile on his face and told everyone to “check this out, I found the coolest keychain ever”; she rolled her eyes and complained about “how people even get pictures like this? It’s not like I go around doing photoshoots”, but Coulson’s proud, dorky grin made her laugh anyway.

She sighed and turned on the car, her previous thought about leaving far forgotten. Where else could she go, anyway? She tried to run away from her team once, and she ended up coming back home. There was nowhere else to go.

_After everything we’ve been through, I’m not sure if destiny exists; otherwise, I’d say it was mine to find you, without hesitation. But as far as I understand (which is barely anything, honestly) there might as well be a thousand of timelines where we never met, so I’m just gonna say I am so, so grateful that I got to a part of your life on this one._

As she drove back home, she did feel the warmth she hoped, after all; the air against her face, brushing her cheeks again and drying her tears, had a calming effect on her. She always enjoyed driving Lola (especially, to be honest, because she was one of the very few people who had ever drove her); with all the madness going on in her life, driving a flying car felt right. It felt so damn right. And, against all odds, she smiled.

_PS: Go to this location, there’s something waiting for you. My father once said it could become a tradition, a family legacy. It did, after all._

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first time I actually publish something in English, so forgive me if it actually sucks. But, in the unlikely case that it doesn't, I'm sorry for the pain I'm pretty sure I caused. Anyway, let me know what you thought, good or bad, I'm good at taking critism (no, I'm not, I just have low self esteem so I already think it sucks, but I do like to improve and get better at stuff).


End file.
